Pre-Show Show

Pre-Show Show

                I don’t know if it was my mom's interest in theater that inspired me to give acting a try, or if it was her support of my high school shows that was a catalyst for her interest in theater. Either way, it was something that we came to enjoy together, and when I was in town from college, we spent an evening together at the Buell.

                One fall evening, we enjoyed grilled chicken, my dad’s famous salad, and roasted vegetables and then drove downtown for an evening of singing and dancing at the theater. My friend was in a show and had gotten us tickets for I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change. My mom and I had both seen it, but when the opportunity arose for us to dress up and go out for a musical that would make us laugh our pants off, we jumped on it.

                We parked a few blocks away, where the parking was a little more reasonably priced than the parking garage, but where the walk would not be too freezing even after the show. As the sun was beginning to set, we pushed our cash into the tiny little payment slot and hustled toward 14^th Street in hopes to make it across the street before the red hand stopped flashing.

                I stretched my legs a little farther as we neared the street, and my mom did too. Unfortunately, the change in stride threw her off balance and she fell off the curb! Her purse went flying, her wallet flipped through the air, and her hands grasped for anything to keep her from hitting the pavement as hard as the time she fell of her bike. I heard a gasp and a commotion with her belongings, so I cranked my neck to see what was going on just as I felt a tug on my skirt! I had to decide: save my mom or save my moon!

                By the time I grabbed hold of her, a waning gibbous was showing and my mom’s knees were on the asphalt! Failure! Well, not complete failure. We made it to the sidewalk before any cars hit us, laughing harder than we would laugh in the theater. We stood on the Buell side of 14^th examining her knees and straightening my clothes when a man rushed over to ask if she was okay and to offer her a little black leather wallet that stuck a perfect landing at his feet. When she assured him she was okay, he continued on his hustle to wherever he was going without even a glance in my direction, which told us that the fall of my skirt was much more embarrassing than her fall off the sidewalk.

                We sat in the theater that night, her with a bruised knee, me with bruised confidence, laughing our pants off, and we silently agreed to park in the garage next time.